The Will To Love
by Peta2
Summary: Set in Season Six, As You Were. An old flame returns to Sunnydale and Buffy is forced to make the hard decisions. Will she have the strength to listen to her heart instead of the voices that have taken over her life? Can a person be taught how to love by
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Disclaimer: The characters of BtVS and Angel belong to Joss Whedon. Thanks to his generosity, I play with them as much as I can.

Beta: Many thanks to the most wonderful Holly in the world.

She awoke with a gasp.

Shaking fingers clutched at her sheets as Buffy raised her eyes to the ceiling, her vision blurred by tears and comforted by darkness. There was too much sensation, too much battering at her to do its will. Too much of knowing that the dream that shuttled her to wakefulness was couched more in reality than desire. Reminded her of things she'd much rather forget.

Like Riley coming back and introducing her to his wife.

While that in itself didn't really make her world collapse like he might have hoped it would, it was humiliating that her big introduction was i _Spike /i _! That the vampire he'd accused her once of being much more along her line of interests was now the one that shared her personal space in the extreme.

The feeling of humiliation was i _much /i _stronger than the one of jealousy. She'd liked Sam, in a really non-confrontational way. But for all Riley's claims of love for her, he'd married super-fast, proving once again that the Buffy-love was conditional and that she never really had it. It was never really i _hers /i , _no matter who she was with.

Spike loved her.

She'd cannonballed into his crypt the previous night, desperate to feel that important to someone. As important as Sam obviously was to Riley. She'd craved to hear i _those /i _words spill from his lips and to see the awe he could never hold back from his expression as he implored her to see his sincerity. At that moment, she'd do anything for love. Even use the one creature that'd done what he could to save her—to love her and keep her safe. The one being who she'd trusted with every secret and every tear, every second of melancholy that had threatened to rip her limb from limb until she returned broken and splintered to her big, fat revolving door home in the sky.

She'd used him, allowed him the only chance to affirm his love for her while he made her body sing with his sweet love-making. He'd treasured her, whispered his gratitude across her skin and while every single word had slashed at her flesh, it had warmed a small section of her heart. And it had been enough. She'd had the words, and it touched her.

But she'd used him.

Suddenly she didn't want to do that anymore. The look on his face when she'd entered his crypt, interrupted his reading, had struck some deep hidden need she'd banished the last time love had been denied her and suddenly the possibility of having it in her hands was a lot more than a craving. It was a reality and despite feeling so cold and empty inside, she wished she could have wept for its relief. And perhaps she would have, had it been anyone but Spike.

The expression on Riley's face when he walked in on her, lying naked and revelling in the cool touch of Spike's skin against hers, was something she was sure she'd never forget as long as she lived. She'd been ashamed, but she wasn't exactly certain why. At first she'd put it down to being caught. Months had gone by of compulsive fucking and not one of the Scoobies had caught on to her secret activities, yet one night back in Sunnydale and Riley had caught her red-handed. Or red-assed. Had she wanted him too?

The correlation between his last great act before fleeing Sunnydale was too close to ignore. He'd found solace in vamp whores; it wasn't something he'd ever apologised for. Not really. He'd made excuses; he'd said that he'd felt compelled to do it when she shut off her heart to him and never allowed him to get close. When he'd realised she'd never love him.

Was there a connection there to why she was now Spike's fuck-bunny?

Riley had got something from being with them. He'd felt useful, needed, cherished in a way that Buffy had never made him feel. It made her feel nauseous to realise that those were the exact things that Spike made her feel. Was that the flavour of Sunnydale? That you didn't know your niche in the world and a vamp was the fast track in finding one?

No, she couldn't believe that. There was more to what she had with Spike than anything Riley could ever have had with those…women. A long association, for one. She'd known Spike for years whereas Riley had probably known…them…for only days. She…trusted Spike. Trusted Spike with her sister, with the Hellmouth and her friends. She trusted him with her secrets, and apparently her body, and not once had he bitten her. Not once had she asked him to.

Those vamp whores had made Riley weak while being with Spike made her strong. When she was flailing with her life, Spike was solace and he always took the pain away. His love banished her pain to a place where it didn't matter anymore—until she left his side.

Last night she'd been miserable. Riley had been alive, married, happy, fighting demons with a partner—someone who could relate to him in every way imaginable, even the secret ones the rest of the world couldn't know about. Riley had had all that and Buffy wanted it too. Only now did she realise she'd had that for years. Spike had been her shadow when fighting, when living for longer than she cared for, and in too many ways he was her partner. In strength, in and out of bed, in parenting her sister, she'd denied it for too long but he was there, natural and effective where she'd been floundering in her ignorance. He was there no matter what she did. He hadn't left yet.

Could she depend on him to never leave her?

Buffy didn't have to dig far to realise the answer was a clanging and resounding yes. Spike was a stayer, a promise-keeper. He was loyal to a fault and his love, an aberration for a demon of his kind, was all consuming and devoted. He'd shown her last night with the softness of his voice and the care in his touch.

No, she didn't want to use him anymore. It wasn't right, not now that Riley knew. Things had to change before the rest clued in and ruined everything. It was time to face up to the life she'd been returned to and become the person she was, not the carbon-copy that destroyed romance and shredded hearts as a matter of course.

It was time she faced Spike.

He was huddled amongst the rubble of what was once his bedroom and Buffy felt her stomach clench at the complete lack of accusation on his face. He forgave her so much when he should be punching her in the face for destroying his possessions. His expression was so open to her, vulnerable and trusting and Buffy felt sick for what she had to do.

He looked at her expectantly and the words dried up in her throat. God, why wasn't he acting evil like she'd always accused him of? Why did he have to look like his absentee heart would be slashed to ribbons if she uttered the words she'd been determined to say?

The ones she couldn't.

She'd run every argument for breaking up with Spike through her head on the trip over. She'd dressed self-consciously, knowing that whatever she wore would be remembered as the thing that had hidden the body he'd never have again. But underlying her determination to end the torment was the desire to look pretty for him. She'd never gone to him with intention in her heart—never once dressed for an occasion with him. Now that it was coming to an end, she wanted to make the effort just once, to show both of them that he wasn't just a tool to while away her pain.

Seeing the fear spark in his eyes now simply added to her own, and it made Buffy think. Spike was afraid of losing her, and as much as she worried about her friends finding out, of losing herself in the ambiguous world that Spike lived in, hurting him caused her far more pain than she'd ever anticipated.

"I'm not here to bust your chops about your stupid scheme. It's what you do." It _was_ what he did, and curiosity burned within her to find out why he'd done this. The episode seemed twisted and strange and it was far too coincidental with Riley's return when Spike had played nice all winter. As many times as she'd accused him of evil, playing poker for kittens had really been the extent of it from what she'd been able to tell. And how was that a bad for a creature used to causing the worst kind of mayhem and painting every town he walked in red?

"I needed the money." His look was one of desperation as he took a step closer, causing Buffy to suck in a deep, painful breath as she contemplated the situation they were in.

"You did it for me, didn't you?" Her eyes widened as his head tipped to the side, a speculative look searching her for the understanding he almost believed she had.

"I do everything for you, Buffy. You know I do. Ask me to walk off the bleeding edge of the world and you know I'd hurry to do it—just for you."

The tears stung as they gathered in her eyes and Buffy sniffled, her lip wobbling as she finally realised what she'd done. What kind of animal she'd been to take from this man who wanted everything for her and took so very little in return.

"I'm using you," she admitted through an aching throat and a progressively runny nose. All along her walk that phrase had been on repeat. She i _had /i _been using him, but did that mean she cared nothing for the monster who'd kept her from finding death each night she thought she'd walked the cemeteries alone?

Standing on the edge of his ruined home, Buffy tried hard to think of the positive things about Spike for once. Too often she concentrated on his faults, and now she finally wondered why she had to constantly remind herself he was evil. There was no doubting he was a vampire—he had no shame in displaying his demon whenever the situation called for it. But even when the raw violence of his alter-ego walked in her presence did he do his best by her. The best that he was capable of. She could recognise the moments where pride altered the outcome, and instead of infuriating her as usual, this time it made her smile.

Spike had saved Dawn. He'd fought against Glory because he loved a woman and her sister more than he was supposed to. A vampire renowned for killing slayers was in love with one and suffered no humiliation with the admission. A vampire who'd basically lost everything that had ever meant anything to him could still look her in the eye and profess love as deep as the ocean.

No wonder she found him overwhelming.

Yes, she'd been using him, but she'd been denying him for a reason she'd never even considered before. It was on the edge of her tongue to admit that she couldn't love him when she stopped, and considered her phrasing. She couldn't love him, it was true. She'd fought doing that very thing every step of the way, and yet who could resist when the only way she could lose her way in the world was by leaving his side?

Why couldn't she love him? Was she so righteous that she could reject real love whenever it was offered to her?

Buffy laughed, the shock of it chipping a little more of the ice away that she'd been immersed in for too long.

Spike hadn't said anything to her statement, content to watch as she wandered around trails of thought until her eyes flicked back to his and she took a deep breath.

"I don't belong in the dark, Spike." She was ever aware that the upstairs was bathed with full sunlight and that it made her happy to be in that world, and yet she didn't quite believe Spike belonged in the true dark anymore, either.

He contemplated her intently, a small frown curving his lips downward. "No, sweetheart. That you don't."

Suddenly all the thoughts that had barraged her earlier in relation to Riley and what he'd seen, the fears of what he thought of her, left. Left as though they mattered so little that she could easily shrug them off. And what filled her vision was Spike, looking less powerful and cocky than he usually did as he battled with emotions she could only imagine.

Did he love her as much as she'd loved Angel? Would the sight of her back make him quake and want to die like Angel's leaving had crushed all the life in her? The pain of that moment was something that would never leave her, and for the first time during this perverse relationship, Buffy allowed her heart to be open. She didn't want to break Spike like that. And then she knew.

It wasn't that she couldn't love Spike. It was that she couldn't love i _anyone_. /i Hadn't she learnt that with Riley? As hard as she'd tried, the emotions would never break through the way they had with Angel. He'd killed every part inside her that made her connect with a man on any level but the physical. That wasn't Spike's fault, and maybe now that she was aware of it, she could change.

She couldn't let Spike do evil. It was just something that had to be established early on. If he loved her, then he'd want to be the kind of man her conscience could live with, and just because he could hurt her now and didn't, it wasn't enough to prove to her that he had the desire or the ability to change.

Words flowed into her consciousness and Buffy stopped, trying to grab at them and make sense of a past she'd tried to ignore. Once he'd told her that he had changed—and of course he had. Was it because he wanted to, or because the chip in his head made it impossible to do anything else?

It was too much thinking for Buffy and she was finding that a headache was taking the place of her indecision. She wasn't so confused now, but she was anxious about her decision. What if it all blew up in her face the second Spike's chip failed? What if she learned to love him too late, and when her heart was invested, he did what they all did and abandoned her?

Since when was she a coward? Buffy shrugged off the rising negativity and took that crucial step toward him—the one that would wipe away that terrified expression on his face probably brought on with the fear that she was ending this thing between them. She didn't want it to end. The only time things made sense was when she was in his arms, and even though separating from him might have the effect of clearing her head and making her life less complicated, it wouldn't hand her the chance she was seeking. The one that only Spike could help her with.

A shaking hand was raised and Buffy placed her palm against his cheek, feeling the electrical charge shoot up her arm as it always did when their flesh collided. How could such an attraction be wrong when the cold, insipid touch of Riley had never made her feel anything close to this good?

You couldn't help who you loved, and maybe, if there was a chance it could be Spike, everything would be okay. They deserved to try, didn't they? She deserved to live a little, and fall in love. And if the first step was melting in the arms of the man who loved her, could she really argue? She didn't want to. She liked touching him, kissing him, being held by him. If she had the capacity to give to another, then she wanted to try first with Spike.

"Can…" Still, being determined didn't make the words suddenly come easy. "Can you help me learn…how to love? Maybe…maybe I i _can /i _love you."

She knew he could see how hopeful she looked and concentrated on the look of awe that made his eyes clear and sparkle. God, he was beautiful and it seemed so incredibly unfair that the Powers would bring a creature like this into her orbit, give him the power to care for her—to save her from herself and her enemies—and not allow him to be hers. He'd declared it so and for once, Buffy was going to trust in that.

"Buffy," he breathed, looking all the more a man who was about to collapse to his knees in relief. He bent forward, his lips barely touching hers as hesitant hands reached out to hold her. Buffy slid her palm down his face and let it rest over his chest, the place he claimed his heart to be resting silent against her touch. But still there was something—a solid wall of muscle and flesh and bone that shielded a weakness Buffy was determined to protect.

"I love you, Slayer." His lips were smooth and plush against hers and Buffy nodded into the kiss, every part of her happy that this ended not in her walking away, but in a possibility of true happiness.

"I know, Spike," she replied, her voice husky and emotional. "I know."

His lips broke away as if forced, but then he seized her in his embrace and she could feel how much he shuddered against her.

"Do you mean this, Buffy? No more popping old Spike in the nose for trying to do right by you and the Bit? No more ignoring the good between us or turning your back on me as soon as your mates enter the picture?" He talked tough, but Buffy could see how much it cost Spike to show her how vulnerable he was with wanting her. How much this chance to be with her meant to him.

"It depends, Spike," she conceded. "How many more suvolte eggs will you 'hold for a friend?' How much more will you try and manipulate my feelings by flaunting the way my body reacts to you?" She was shaking and she could hardly understand why. This ball was in Spike's court and she could only hope that he would grasp this opportunity with both hands and hang on tight enough for the both of them, because suddenly, she wanted it almost as much as he did.

He answered her with an indistinct sob and the burial of his face in her hair. "I'm a demon, pet. Might be we both have a lot to learn." His body shook against hers and Buffy hugged him hard.

She waited until he raised his face from her neck, sharing a watery and tentative smile with him. "Then…I guess all that's left is…we start. Now. This is our beginning. 'Kay?"

He nodded.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"No more sex."

Spike stared at her like she'd suddenly declared that Glory was never defeated and they'd have to go back out and do it all again. Then he leered in that way that always cracked her resolve and resulted in the two of them rolling around the floor like two desperate dogs that couldn't let go of each other.

She refused to let it work this time.

"I mean it, Spike." She didn't dare pout; her current foundation was still so shaky that the whole crypt could end up crumbling around her ears if she made even one tiny little step wrong. Trying to find the strength to resist any more of his usually successful seduction techniques, Buffy finally looked up to find a very sheepish Spike, his hands in his jeans pockets and barely able to look her in the eye.

"'S where we went wrong, yeah?"

_Yeah, that's where they went wrong._ Buffy could remember it all so clearly, the powerful urge to share her waking moments with Spike, talking, joking, getting drunk. Even the silence had been important and she'd cherished it, though she'd struggled to keep him in that part of her life that didn't quite mesh with her friends. On the outskirts where she could easily ignore the fact she'd shared secrets with him and invited him into her life in preference of pretending she was the same girl she'd always been for her friends.

And kicking Spike to the curb was an easy habit to fall into. No amount of awestruck, amazed looks as she descended staircases alive could stop her from the knee-jerk reaction when things started to get too complicated. When he started getting too close.

Still, this decision to go forward rather than cutting off what they'd had at the knees felt exhilarating, despite the incineration and debris of his lower level where they now stood. It should have been symbolic for the relationship, but instead, Buffy felt the unfamiliar phoenix rise up from the ashes, fluff up its newly formed feathers, and give her hope.

"'S okay, we were more than just sex," Spike agreed warily, even though his voice was husky in that way that made her weak at the knees. Already Buffy regretted setting down that condition, not having the first clue what they should actually do to embark properly on this mission.

"Yeah. We really were." It brought the blossom of a smile to her lips and Buffy felt freer by realising the fact. They'd had fun with each other before she'd been stupid and kissed him. Before Spike found out he could hurt her. That the chip didn't recognise her as the girl he'd known before she'd died.

She couldn't blame him for going crazy with that news. If she'd been around her natural enemy for two years with her hands effectively tied behind her back, her first action might well have been to lash out. He'd been frustrated with her—and really, who wasn't these days? He was frustrated, but he'd had more invested in her than anyone else did. Everyone else pretty much ignored her in case she was in one of _those _moods and would bring down anyone who dared to engage her. Spike had saved her life, had been the keeper of her secrets, had been there every single time her friends had let her down—and she didn't underestimate the cost of that revelation. She'd kissed him and then run away like a frightened rabbit. He loved her and as a creature accustomed to using evil to gain what it desired, he'd done what he needed to get a reaction from her.

Fighting had always stirred her up.

Spike sighed into her hair and a delicious tingle speared down her spine. He hadn't let her go and it felt good to be in his arms. She loved the sensation of his leather coat against her cheek; it felt like home to her now, and as such, Buffy rested her face against his chest. She may have vetoed the sex for now—and she was seriously contemplating kicking herself all the way home over that really ill-thought out plan—but there was no way on this green earth that she was giving up these arms. Bands of steel, so sexy with the muscles and the flesh and the…muscles, and Buffy almost moaned at how good it felt to still have access to this.

"Right then," started Spike, eager to get the motivational talk underway. "We can do this, yeah? Start the ball rolling all over again, but without the fun stuff at the end." He frowned, wondering how long he could keep his hands off, especially when she was making love to his coat while he was still in it and just as receptive as always to her shape and smell.

"Maybe…maybe _some _fun stuff would be okay," she suggested in an almost panicked, squeaky voice. "You've always got to have the fun. Fun is…of the necessary for getting-better Buffy?" Okay, so that didn't quite work, but were they looking for miracles? Buffy snuggled deeper into her vampire's embrace and closed her eyes. This was so much easier than it had looked. All those months she'd watched his arms and lamented how empty they always appeared. It was totally her fault, she knew. But knowing it and doing something about it when you were too terrified to breathe were two completely different things.

"Right. So we slot some fun into the schedule," Spike suggested hesitantly; Buffy could feel his frown as it settled into her hair. "But not too much fun, right? Can't risk getting carried away again and blowing this all to hell."

She couldn't help it. There were moments when Spike was so clueless and cute that there was no other option but to giggle. Oh yeah, this could actually be lots of fun—without the physical, sweaty fun they needed to avoid at all costs.

The carefree sound was so foreign in the crypt that the shocked silence that followed it very soon became uncomfortable, and awkwardly, Buffy untangled herself and pulled away. She felt like crying at the panicked look on Spike's face, but distance seemed necessary while they tried to put some kind of limits on this arrangement.

Still, they needed an arrangement to begin with and Buffy felt a long forgotten tingle of anticipation warm her insides. It felt a little like the time she'd spent waiting for that first date with Riley to kick in and the giggly nervousness of then was threatening to engulf her now. How had she gone from dread and determination to break up with Spike and banish him from her life— once and for all—to working up to an actual date with him?

The way he was looking at her proved it didn't matter. Despite her behaviour toward him, this time she hadn't wanted to hurt him. Now that they'd settled on a new altered course, she was insanely pleased there was no heartbreak in sight.

"Why don't we start this out easy—with something we both know and can relate to?" Spike suggested hopefully.

Buffy blinked and the image of the two of them, sitting on a blanket in the middle of the local cemetery sipping on wine and blood while flirting with each other, seemed totally ridiculous.

"Huh?" She waited through Spike's mini-explosive temper episode and then smiled as he turned to her, his eyes imploring her to agree and not leave him standing and looking the fool.

"A date, princess. I think we should stick to the familiar." And then the doubt that was going to take some solid work to banish clouded his features and he asked her uncertainly, "Unless you'd prefer something different? Flowers, movie, dancing?"

Buffy felt her throat close up and her heart threaten to thump its way out of her chest at that one, simple word. Date. _That's what it all boils down to, people! _she thought to herself almost hysterically. Taking this to a new level—giving it a fresh beginning and room to grow meant so many things, but the one she hadn't really considered was that it meant actually trying to date. It meant going public with what they were doing, with all their hopes and plans and possibly all the 'I-told-you-so' failures her friends would be especially quick to point out when it all blew up in her face.

Buffy paused, thinking heavy thoughts as she looked at the evidence of the last thing that had blown up in her face. There was the potential for so much badness here and it scared her to death. But then the doleful expression on Spike's face registered and she felt like kicking herself. How could she make the offer of a handful of Buffy crumbs only to brush them out of his hand the next second?

Taking a breath so deep it hurt, Buffy slowly looked back up and met his eyes, stark terror making her appear skittish and deer-like.

"A-a familiar date is good. Absolutely. No need for flowers. Um, patrol?"

Spike hit her with an obscenely knowing smirk and Buffy felt her blood pressure drop into her shoes. "Patrol, sweetness? If that's the case, we've been datin' for years. At the very least, wear a pretty dress for me?"

She gulped. She could do that. She _wanted _to do that, and if that wasn't a sign that the world was ending, nothing was. She could easily remember times when she'd patrolled in cute skirts, just hoping that Angel would happen by and admire her taut legs and maybe be enticed to come a little closer. But to want to do that for Spike implied so many things she'd been denying like crazy to herself, the first being that she wanted to be attractive to him. Where had the days gone when she'd not cared a bit about what he thought of her?

It didn't take much to think of the day when things between them had truly changed. She was almost ashamed to admit that it had come before the obvious admiration-inspiring event—when he'd showed the depths of his loyalty to her and her family by facing certain death to conceal Dawn's identity from a bitter hellgod. It hadn't been on finding out he'd continued to protect her sister and friends even though she'd surpassed any level of awareness of the deed. It wasn't even as romantic as the day they'd spent betrothed, in love, and gushy with their happiness. The shame came from the flutter that had started in her belly and quickly spread throughout her body the night they'd hid deep in the bowels of the hellmouth after the attack on Tara; it was avidly ignored as she'd raced across town to save Willow from a likely slaughtering. The moment he'd admitted he'd do something foolhardy—dangerous even—in the name of love. While Spike and foolhardy walked identical paths, it did her heart good to know that someone—even if it was a someone she'd not had the courage to even consider with a piece of her heart—thought that highly of her that they would sacrifice their life to avenge her.

Not that the sexy wounds that had covered him from head to toe hadn't left her a little breathless and off kilter. There was just no way she'd have admitted to herself in the middle of a fight for all their lives that he did something to her blood that no soulless vampire ever should—that no other man, normal or otherwise, ever had. Furthering this honesty trick she had going with herself, it was the violence of his conviction that had truly moved her, and Buffy realised now that she'd been seeing that on a fairly continual basis since she'd allowed him responsibility within their little demon-fighting army.

So, yeah, she'd wear a dress, even though it made the butterflies in her belly do the snoopy dance and her vaginal muscles clench with promise. Buffy licked her lips, suddenly eager for this monumentally tradition-breaking date to commence. There was really only one question remaining.

"What colour?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

A/N Firstly, to my utter embarrassment, the poem in this is all mine. Well, mostly. Spikeslovebite helped me out on one line. So, don't flame me, I know it is sub-par.

Secondly, thank you to heartsdiamonds and ya-lublyu-tebya for kicking me into updating this fic here. All reviews are very much appreciated. Thank you all for taking an interest in this story.

Something was up with Buffy.

Dawn watched her sister, wigged by the eerie little smile that had plopped down on her lips sometime before the slayer had walked in the front door, and hadn't yet left. Buffy didn't do happy and that smile was making all kinds of promises that Dawn just couldn't handle. It had to be the bot—except the bot was destroyed way beyond repair and as much as Willow _thought _she was the wielder of miracles, one consisting of wires and fake skin were far beyond her grasp.

"Um, Buffy? Did something happen? Like…did you get fired again?"

Buffy spun in a circle, her arms outstretched and a euphoric giggle bursting from her lips. "Better, Dawnie. We're going shopping."

Okay, so now she was positive that a pod had taken over and the real Buffy was nowhere to be found. They didn't shop—not anymore. Shopping required a certain amount of the moula in reserve and that was something sorely missing from their current lifestyle. Not that she blamed Buffy for that. Not really. But it didn't make it any less difficult resigning herself to being poor and missing out on all the things that the other kids that had parents got all too easily and frequently.

"We? Am I getting something too?" Dawn's insecure voice broke through Buffy's celebratory dance and the smile slipped. "Figured." She crossed her arms across her chest, an automatic defence against the strain of disappointment.

"Oh Dawn. I'm so sorry. That was really insensitive." Buffy hurried to hug her sister, rushing into promises of things that Dawn suspected she didn't have a hope of keeping. The teen flushed guiltily. Buffy had been happy for all of three minutes and as usual, she'd managed to bring her sister back down to the very pits of the depression she'd been wallowing in since her return to the living.

"It's no big," she protested, and as the water in Buffy's eyes slowly dispersed, she realised how true it was. It didn't matter what had suddenly made Buffy so happy and enthusiastic to be part of the living world again. She could surrender a new shade of lipstick or a new pair of shoes just this once. "You should totally buy yourself something pretty. It's been forever since you did. Just…next time it's my turn. Deal?"

Buffy was so relieved she shook. Dawn glanced at her sister and worried how something so small could make the blonde so pitifully grateful.

"Absolutely," Buffy agreed, dragging Dawn into another back-breaking hug. "We'll make a plan for it tomorrow, start saving and everything."

Several minutes passed where they clung to each other, neither ready to get back into the rut of the every day—except, shopping had been promised, and even when it wasn't for her, Dawn was so into any shopping experience that was on offer.

Pulling herself away, she got down to the nitty-gritty immediately. "So, what's the mission? New brand of yoghurt? A black pen? Oh, I know, one of those intellectual type books that Willow's always talking about?" And at Buffy's mortified look, "Sexy lingerie?" The blush that consumed the slayer's face told its own story and Dawn felt a Spike-worthy smirk spread across her lips. "You are so owing me a story, Miss Secretive. Where's the studly that inspired this little outing?"

Buffy battered a weak hand at Dawn's shoulder, pushing the girl back half a step before Dawn hit her with her own stronger shove. Buffy tripped back and fell on the stairs, giggling with such a light heart that Dawn's eyes misted. "Can't afford the underwear, Dawn. But I need a dress. A pretty dress. Something blue."

The dreamy expression that followed the words had Dawn gaping at her sister. Buffy wanted to impress a guy? Whoo boy, that'd been a long time coming, but it was a good sign, right? It meant that she was starting to accept where she was—or more importantly, where she wasn't—and was maybe going to try and live again. Still, it was more than a mystery. They'd only just got rid of Riley and his conveniently swift replacement bride—where the hell had Buffy gone to meet someone new?

"Something blue is something we can do," she agreed, looking incomprehensibly at Buffy as she burst into a fit of giggles.

"Something blue is something we can do," the blonde repeated with a cracked voice, the laughter filling the foyer like it hadn't for far too long.

Dawn slapped a hand on her hip and glared at Buffy. No one made fun of her and got away with it. "I thought we had shopping to do? Maybe you'd rather sit there and laugh yourself to death and I'll go spend this hidden stash on new Backstreet Boys CDs?"

Buffy was up the stairs, changed out of her perfectly acceptable outfit into another, and they were out the door, smiles and jokes mandatory to the expedition.

Barely a minute into their walk, Dawn turned and gave her sister a speculative look.

"So, who's the lucky guy?"

Buffy turned a brighter shade of tomato and mumbled "Spike" before she took off at a slayer-speed run, leaving a gob-smacked Dawn in her non-vampire dust. The teen stared after her for a minute before a brighter-than-bright smile broke out on her face.

"About dang time!" Dawn shouted after the disappearing blonde and raced off to catch her.

She couldn't believe how nervous she was.

She'd at least doubled the amount of time she'd taken to prepare for her first date with Riley, her fingers shaking through every part of her toilette. Her hair was freshly washed, her face perfectly made up, and her dress was new, short and divine. Electric blue, Buffy had no trouble visualising how well she'd match Spike's eyes. What she wasn't picturing so clearly was how she was going to manage patrol in such a skimpy, seductive outfit. He said to dress up, and after some of the stunts she'd pulled in their top secret relationship, she thought she owed him something special. Or as special as her budget would allow. Luck had been completely on her side for once when she'd spied the dress on a discount rack. It was the perfect colour, the perfect price and had the perfect cling to her shape. She just knew Spike's eyes were gonna pop.

His arrival wasn't kept as quiet as he might have liked. Buffy's skin tingled and her body was on alert the second she sensed a vampire, and through sheer force of will, she determined it was Spike. There was no actual allowance for fledglings tonight—even though it was theoretically a patrol date. Nothing else factored into her thinking—not the newly risen undead, not friends and certainly not any hints of a looming apocalypse. For the first time Buffy could remember since her doomed relationship with Angel, she was fully focused on one thing; on one man.

And in moves typical to Spike, he trod on a twig and the crack that broke through the night made her feel weak in the knees. He moved closer behind her, Buffy squeezing her eyes closed in heart-rocketing anticipation. His breath disturbed the hair by her ear and she shivered as he leaned even closer, pausing just long enough to make her want to scream that waiting was a mistake, pivot on the spot and throw her arms around him.

But then his gravely, hushed words calmed her, tickled her curiosity and then inflamed her again to the point of desperately wishing she could throw caution to the wind and jump his bones.

"_Sleeping, dreaming, all true hearts gleaming, _

_settling on a starry night sky._

_Hopes and wishes tucked up in kisses,_

_no longer does the lonely girl cry._

_Of beauty and grace, and pleasure on her face,_

_her body taut enough to fly._

_Coming together, and sharing real love forever,_

_breathing awe, shades of Heaven in her eyes."_

Buffy held her breath and immediately felt woozy. She didn't need to turn; in seconds Spike stood in front of her, his expression vulnerable as he searched her for something she'd never believed she could give.

"That was beautiful." For once she wasn't just opening up and letting meaningless words tumble from her mouth. This moment meant a lot to Spike; she'd known that from the very moment his eyes had lit up when the second chance had been offered. And when Spike wanted something as badly as Buffy now realised he truly wanted _her, _his usual bravado took a beating.

"Was just something that popped into the old noggin'. Seeing you here, in the moonlight…looking _particularly _lovely in that smashing dress…how could a vamp resist?"

It was the tone of his voice that did it. The perfect Spike-trying-to-be-aloof voice that made her senses thrum and her heart beat its need to be in his arms. A knowing smile spread across her lips and Buffy couldn't resist the impulse to do mischief. "I'm worthy of poetry now?" The glint of fun slipped from her eyes as Spike stared at her, obviously shocked.

"Pet, there'd be many women out there far i _ less /i _ deserving than you." And then he ducked his head, suddenly shy at the further exposure of his Williamness and Buffy felt her heart swell, infused with unfamiliar warmth.

Feeling bold, she stepped forward and slipped her hand into his. Her eyes sparkled as she smiled at him, captivated not for the first time by the look of awe he freely showered her with. It took a moment to remember how to breathe, and then another how to talk, and then she was asking him what he had in store for them for the night. As he regaled about the perfect picnic spot and gently nudged her in the direction, Buffy desperately tried to act calm when all she really wanted to do was stop him, run her fingers through his hair and let him make love to her mouth.

They didn't walk far, passing no more than five headstones before they made it to a red picnic rug spread out under the arching branches of an oak tree. Spike actually had a basket and, while Buffy felt apprehensive about what nature of goodies he had stashed away in there, the wine glasses were a reassuring touch. There was absolutely no getting rid of this giddy smile that had taken over her lips now. Spike was being romantic, and as unexpected as it was, Buffy loved every second of it. She loved how nervous he was to show her how much this thing between them meant to him. She was suddenly grateful for that more reasonable voice that had shouted in her ear about the injustice she'd be delivering if she'd dumped him and turned her back on the possibility of them for good.

Without a word, Spike led her to the blanket, waited for her to sit and look comfortable before he turned abruptly and punched the vamp that had been trying to sneak up behind him, knocking him flat and momentarily stunned. Buffy jumped, having blocked out all creatures of the night but Spike and so being unprepared for the attack. There was no joy in Spike's usual mode of dispatching death to his kin. One lightning fast jab of his stake and the vamp was history, leaving Spike to fall to his knees on the blanket and finally open the basket.

It was laden with food: chicken, fruit, sandwiches and some kind of pie. Buffy's mouth watered and she completely dismissed that evil goody-two-shoes voice that wanted to demand where he got the money for all of it. Tonight it didn't matter. If he could bend this far out of character, then Buffy could allow him to cling to a little bit of evil, too.

Eating wasn't a problem. Nor was the drinking of beverages when Spike poured the cooled, fresh white wine into a glass and handed it to her. What apparently _was_ difficult was the talking part and Buffy realised how rarely she'd allowed that to happen between them recently. She had no clue where to begin, what was a safe topic and what was inevitably not. Should she talk about patrolling or Dawn, his failed stint as 'The Doctor?' Nerves had never really been a factor in any of her dealings with Spike. She'd felt fear once or twice in the early days, and terror in the more recent ones when she realised she'd pitched herself into a spiral of despair and no matter how hard she kicked, neither she nor Spike could get her out of it.

Riley had managed what Spike and the Scoobs had failed to do all year, and all it had apparently taken was an impulsive marriage to the perfect woman that wasn't her. Mrs Finn was strong, tall, mission-oriented, army regulation perfect for Riley and Buffy couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief that she'd missed him in the final seconds before he'd left. Sam was the walking embodiment of what letting Riley Finn go had meant. His life and his health—no longer an extension of some skanky vamp-ho's fangs, or the boyfriend of an apathetic slayer.

So, unable to choose a topic that would sustain the peace they were currently sharing, rather than chancing one that would blow it completely, the couple remained quiet, and strangely it was a shared moment of silent comfort.

For one whole minute, and then the cracks began to ripple through their stillness, disrupting their security, tearing them both from composed normalcy and into a dark rip of uncertainty.

"This is bollocks, Buffy." Spike leapt to his feet and started pacing, glancing back at her and grimacing at how beautiful she looked, his heart splintering at how much effort she actually took for him. She was peppy and looked happy, yet underneath there was so much that had been swept under the surface and Spike didn't know how to deal with that. He knew what he wanted to do—tear the dress from breast to hem and devour her in the mind-numbingly satisfying manner he'd grown accustomed.

But that would be wrong. He thought that was wrong. He was sure Buffy would see that as wrong. And he was trying so hard to not be wrong. To not _do _wrong.

"What are you doing here?" Tilting his head, he peered down on her, the night showing her off to advantage under the vampire's moon and making him lose his focus to the throb of lust taking over his body. "What are you _really_ doing here, Buffy?"

"Wh-what?" The façade slipped and Spike had another glimpse of the broken girl that had been unwillingly returned to him—to them all. It hurt, but it fuelled him with hope that all was not lost and even if he had to push on with this dating and hands-off thing, it wouldn't be forever. He'd have her back eventually—if he could wait long enough. He'd _show _her how much he loved her and how they belonged together. It wasn't an option to fail. Oh sure, he'd live if she kicked him to the curb—again—but it wasn't his choice. It wasn't what he wanted. Or what he believed _she _needed.

Slowly Buffy stood, her gaze looking skittish and unsure, bordering on terrified. The quiver in her voice beckoned of the wounded, insecure warrior as she tried hard to look him in the eye as she sought the truth. "I-I thought we were…seeing if this could work? Do you not want to?"

The possibility of his withdrawal of interest was obviously spooking her and Spike rushed forward to reassure her, not that he could have held back if he'd tried. His hands closed around her upper arms and he held her firmly. "Of course I want to," he said, his smile gentle and warm. "'S jus'…bloody confusing, is what it is."

"Oh." Air whooshed past her lips in obvious relief and her body relaxed, hands covering her face as she tried to stop herself from shaking. "That…was actually kind of disturbing." Hesitantly raising her eyes, Spike could see a matching vulnerability and wondered what he'd done to deserve her.

He ignored the fact that he knew he didn't, but determined he was going to have her just the same.

"What say we sit back down on the rug and try out some of the nosh I scrounged up?" His look was hopeful and her smile of the watery kind as she took his lead and made herself comfortable again on the ground.

Tentative conversation indicated just how nervous they both were, and Spike violently held back his passion for her in favour of not having his face kicked in and eating her dust as she flounced off all aflutter. It was hard. They both felt the strain but persisted until just being with each other was exhausting.

"Want to patrol?" Spike asked at last.

Buffy scrambled to her feet, her eyes glittering with enthusiasm. "I thought you'd never ask." To hell with her dress. Spike would appreciate it more for seeing it flying up around her face with a snap kick anyway. "Last one to kill a demon is a rotten egg," she bellowed before speeding off into the night, a smirking Spike at her heels.

The promise of Buffy and violence—life just didn't get any better than this.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Spike awoke with a smile curling his lips. Muscles popped satisfyingly as he stretched like a cat, sweeping a hand casually across his chest and abs. He was alone, and while the knowledge lent him pause and made the wakeful happiness slip a little, the belief he was making headway had it zooming back up there in no time. He wanted to sing, get up and do his nudie dance of joy, but he was the Big Bad again—or as much of one he could be with slivers of Initiative technology still keeping him tame and leashed on the mouth of Hell—and Big Bads didn't shake their goodies on the side of good fortune, or not when every bloke and his dog could come crashing unannounced into his home.

Though sleeping alone, spending the night celibate with Buffy had cranked out emotions in him he'd never known he could muster. She was soft and good, and as easily as he thought he could read her, she always ended up surprising him.

The picnic idea had been an over-romanticised, ill thought out manoeuvre that was only just saved in the nick of time with the lure of nightly violence. He should have guessed that any semblance of a normal date would be too much for either of them. He wasn't normal, and the few times Buffy had treated him like the man he sometimes thought himself to be, it didn't actually make him one. Pity. He liked that look of approval in her eyes, even if it came but rarely. And as normal as he wasn't, Buffy was even less so but with the added complication of being at least human enough to give the ruse a passing shot.

The girl never handled failure well. Internalised the pain until she was punishing the few who could bear to be singed by her erratic light.

He couldn't help but wonder if she'd ever give the ideal up or if it would be one of those lasting impression things, that Angel's parting words would always be with her.

She'd looked stunning last night. He'd stared at her with an emotion hardly mustered by him in over a century. Appreciation for her efforts had blindsided him. He'd not been expecting her to make such a deep impression—not when she'd made so many on him during the past year. Still, she'd dressed up…for him! She'd groomed herself for a date with him and Spike was still reeling—despite the grin he couldn't wipe from his face. Never before had someone given him the chances Buffy was trying so hard to freely hand to him—no ties.

Pity it was all so bleeding problematic.

Somewhere along the way what he'd wanted from her and what he'd accepted had become all twisted. Not that he didn't revel in being twisted. He was a vamp and he'd always strive for the chaos of the thing before anything else. Always want to hold the broken in his hands and try to mould it into the most comfortable wearing coat. No matter how much he'd given to Buffy, the intensity of what she'd given back had been an overload for his system.

He had a horrifying prediction that this softer, more agreeable Buffy was going to kick his lovely existence in the teeth. Alter the playing field even further so he was left with a world that he barely recognised anymore—not that it was much of a stretch from what he had now. Everyday was a minefield to him—would he get through the night without a newly broken nose, an undamaged crypt, a night of glorious, sadistic sex?

His girl kept him on his toes, and while that made him happy for the most part, he couldn't help but think he should be burdened with nerves now that she was trying to take them to a level of respectability. Acceptance.

It was something her crowd had never given him and despite her professions that she was going to tell them the truth about her secret lover—the truth about her time with him—Spike seriously doubted it would reward them with little more than an earful of pain for the trouble.

With a grimace, he rolled off his cold sarcophagus and shook out his bedraggled and singed blanket. It was all he had left since the lower level had been baptised with fire and demon guts. Not that he was complaining. Well, not loudly at any rate. He should have known he'd end up buggered with that plan, one way or another. He was poking the Slayer within feet of a dangerous breed of demon. He'd been bloody stupid to not expect that to blow up spectacularly in his face.

It galled him that he had to pull on the shirt he'd worn the day before. He was a vamp who took pride in his appearance and losing his whole bleeding wardrobe in one upsweep of Captain bloody Wanker really pissed him off. And if he up and swiped an armful of black tees from the local, he'd have the Slayer breathing down his neck—and not in a way designed to get him hot and heavy.

Not that a thought of the Slayer breathing on his neck did anything but have him jut out hard and aching. He'd had many absences from Dru's lean body in the many years he'd escorted her around the globe, but very rarely had it caused so much blistering pain to have his cock deemed off limits to certain zones. To not be able to sink deep within Buffy's scorching depths almost felt like death. And not the kind of death he'd been enjoying for the past century. This was the kind that made him not want to face another new day. So he was superficial. He was evil for God's sake!

He was being melodramatic. She'd offered him the kind of relationship he'd only ever dreamed about, if he had the courage and the will to try and earn it. Bloody hard to wait for the thing he'd been awarded so freely just days ago. Bloody hard—but worth it. If he couldn't have her in the dark—and he was under no illusions that she'd meant to dump him from her life for good after his home's rapist choppered off to parts unknown to _Spike_—he'd have her any way she'd offer. If it meant keeping his hands to himself for a time, he could do it.

As much as he'd always wanted Buffy, this _almost truly having her_ felt more than a little surreal. The possibility of being her lover—and recognised as such by all that daily criticised her choices—seemed outside Spike's natural abilities of comprehension. He'd seen some wondrous things in his time, but a soulless vampire dating a slayer had to rise above every single one of them. Still, if he didn't wrap his head around the reality of it soon, he'd fuck it up and lose her for good, and that would _never _do.

Right, well tonight seemed the perfect opportunity to test out her resolve—and her word. He'd heard a few rumblings around The Magic Box that tonight was to be for 'dancing and making with the fun,' and Spike planned to be right where his girl would be. By her side, ready to see if she'd admit to all of them that he was truly her boyfriend.

As lame as that sounded.

As bloody brilliant as that sounded.

His coat settled over his shoulders and Spike stretched and cracked his neck, indulging in the usual routine of rehearsing his most menacing moves to help reassure him he hadn't completely lost his touch. It was more like going through the motions now—hard to feel confident in his Big Badness when he couldn't frighten a fly anymore, and he was just as useless. The leather was more than a prop, though. Just like silicon tits made some women more confident in their allure, Spike allowed the coat to soothe him into the rebellious, evil persona that had become as familiar as his skin.

That Buffy had succumbed in no small part to that side of him proved that he'd not been far from the point he'd shared with the Iowa idiot all along: girl liked a bit of monster in her man. That it was Spike's monster was all the better.

With a new spring in his step, Spike strutted across town, snarling occasionally at the weak and revelling in their startled squeaks and trails of fear as they ran. It was a small thrill, but thrill it did, and it made him feel a little less whipped than he knew he really was.

The Bronze fairly pumped with blood, excitement and sweat harnessed by a hundred horny and clueless patrons. And Buffy was in there, still within the influence of her oblivious mates while he waited and worried about how far he should push her to deliver what she'd promised. How much he should forgive her when she didn't.

He swung the door open, stepped through, paused, and surveyed the darker interior for a glimpse of his golden girl. She wasn't too hard to find. Even if he could sense her with his age old slayer-radar, he'd have seen her immediately just from the strength of her smile. Buffy nursed a coke in a cup between her palms and she giggled and talked animatedly; in short, a Buffy that had been absent from this place for at least a year. A quick glance placed them all except Nibblet—she must have got her way and was planted firmly within the bosom of Janice's family home as soon as night fell so that big sis could have a night off from responsibility.

She needed it. Hell, as much as the gits she hung out with cheesed him off, they did too. Wasn't easy keeping on top of an active Hellmouth and despite himself, Spike found himself swelling with admiration for the whole bunch of them. He'd helped them this last summer, even though his reasons for doing so confused him. There were the obvious ones of course—keeping the world safe, keeping Dawn safe, keeping Buffy's mates safe. But then there was the insidious one that kept perking up in his conscience and never allowed him to sleep. He did it for Buffy—plain and simple. And he did it for himself. No matter where she was, he was convinced she could see him, and if she could see him, he wanted her to be proud of him. To trust him to take care of those she'd left behind.

If she'd seen, she'd forgotten the second she'd plummeted to earth and ended up locked in a wooden box too many feet below the surface. Spike shook off that thought quickly. Every misguided recollection or thought of Buffy digging herself out of her grave was enough to spiral him into despair. As much as reason told him that Buffy's trauma was completely laid at the witch's door, it never stood up against the guilt that it was really his fault she'd died in the first place.

No one at the table seemed aware of his entrance—not even Buffy—and that bugged him unreasonably. She should be able to feel him—just like he could feel her when she was anywhere near. It was disappointing to not see her face before he strutted up to the table, spying an empty chair and drawing it in closer to her and the table.

As soon as he sat down there was silence. It was an insulting hush and Spike wasn't stupid enough to imagine it meant anything but the pure disdain the majority at the table held for him. Well, presumably not Buffy, and hopefully not Tara, though that bird was twistier than most. He was undecided about the ex-demon that obviously needed her brain refunded with hanging with the wanker on the stool beside her, but for now he'd add her into the Switzerland category. All right, so that made half the table. Harris and Red were looking at him with shock and subtle revulsion, and he was sure they thought he'd done it just to piss them off. They were only half wrong, because as much as he loved Buffy, that reaction was always just neat.

"Evenin' all," he drawled, searching his pockets for his packet of cancer sticks and smirking in satisfaction at the shared expressions of horror around the gathering. Buffy's face matched those of her friends and he felt a shard of irritation pierce his throat. It wasn't tears. No fucking way was he going to let her contrary nature make him weak in front of this pack of wolves.

"I strongly object to your smoking. I have newly human lungs and letting them get cancer from second hand smoke is the very last thing I will allow them to do. Put it out now," Anya demanded, her frown etching deeper lines into her face the longer he ignored her. In a fit of pique, she stood on the stool's wrung, leaned over the table and plucked it from his lips, throwing it into Xander's fruity looking cocktail, despite the brunette's panicked attempt at diverting her to a napkin.

"Oi! That was bloody uncalled for!" He fumed at the girl and then felt the hard, pointy toe of a boot connect with his leg and struggled to reign in the demon that wanted to bite their heads off, possibly starting with the feisty blond who still hadn't said a word about his presence.

"Besides," Willow said as she barged into the conversation, her eyes glittering with suspicion and dislike. "You can't smoke in here. So there."

Spike let his gaze roll leisurely around the club, making it obvious to the power-hungry redhead that no such sign betrayed itself on the club's walls and that he knew she was talking out her arse and the end result wasn't pretty. "You the new management then, pet? 'Cause if you are, I've got a bone to pick with you. How about bringing the flowering onion back to the sodding menu? Only thing worth scarfing, it was!"

Willow looked very unattractive with her lips thinned in anger and her body turning away from him. The attitude was relatively unexpected for Spike and he looked at Buffy to try and get some explanation for the Wiccan's animosity. The Slayer shrugged, showing that she was as much in the dark as Spike often was. It wasn't a pleasant sensation, knowing he'd unwittingly pissed off a witch capable of awakening the dead. Still, she could only dust him once—he hoped.

"Why the hell are you here, Fang Breath? Did it look like we were lonely?" Xander glared at him and not for the first time Spike wondered why the boy didn't just let some of the anger out before he earned himself a heart attack.

"Whelp, you _always _look lonesome. Probably on account of all the girlies wanting to run as soon as you open your bigoted mouth." The end of the sentence came out on a tempered growl, Spike's bumpies rippling below the surface of his face. Buffy clasped his hand beneath the table and it was enough acknowledgement to stop him losing control and causing himself a powerful headache in front of a crowd. For that second that the molten heat of his demon violence flashed behind his eyes, he was grateful to her.

"Spike's here to…for…" Buffy looked wide-eyed at her friends and then blanched at the expectation on Spike's face. She was making the difficult impossible by denying the words to even form in her head and Spike felt himself stand, prepare to take that first definitive step away from the table and her when she grabbed his hand—out in plain view—and hopped off her stool to stand beside him. Her eyes pleaded with him and Spike was torn between being patient and pissed. "Spike, wanna dance?" She tugged him away from the group and into the throng of energetic bodies getting their Friday night groove down and funky, and all it did was confuse him more.

The second she was in his arms, she buried her face in his neck, her warm breath rapid and terrified against him. "I'm so sorry, Spike. I will tell them. I promise." She looked so miserable when she looked up, and the tears blurring her eyes were enough to tell him how sincere she was. The girl was just scared and he should know that better than anybody. He knew _her _better than her watcher or her friends combined, so he could cut her some slack.

Buffy curled her hand into the hair at the nape of his neck and tugged him down, bestowing on him the first kiss since she'd decided to give them a chance. His blood flared at her proximity, at her taste and he could feel every cell of his body reacting to her closeness. This was a dream—one so unnaturally coming true and for the moment he didn't care that she hadn't told them all. He'd put her on the spot and it hadn't panned out—but maybe it had earned him the result he'd wanted.

A glance through the crowd saw a table full of gaping Scoobies and Spike felt a shudder rip through his body. Buffy made him feel like he was the Prince with his Princess and he couldn't help but fear when this fairytale would end, but in the mean time, "Wouldn't worry about it, luv. They'll get it soon enough."

And he went back to caressing her plump lips.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"I can't do this right now," cried Willow miserably and she bolted up the stairs, leaving a stunned Tara and Buffy staring at nothing but thin air.

"I guess Willow doesn't approve." Buffy looked dejectedly at the only understanding friend she'd had in the long, desperate months that had made her Spike's lover. Abstractedly she'd known that her friends weren't going to go backwards in their attitude to Spike, and finding out she was dating him had catapulted her into an explosive situation she'd have preferred to avoid until at least her next death. Still, knowing and accepting were two different things. Tara's belief in her—her total lack of judgment on who Buffy loved and why—had given the Slayer a false sense of security where this relationship was concerned. The girl had been ready to welcome Spike to the group, convinced that Buffy couldn't possibly have a wild fling with an evil monster if she didn't at least love him a little.

Tara was so much wiser than anyone gave her credit!

Buffy had never been the type of girl to just throw herself at a man for the pure experience of sex. There had always existed hope to get her through, and while Angel had almost obliterated that hope by turning into the most evil incarnation of himself, and Parker had shown her that she needed to be much more careful in her trust of men, and Riley had proven above all that passion _did _need to be an underlying element to a relationship, she'd never entered into a relationship believing it had nothing to flesh it out and make it more than sex.

Being with Spike hadn't changed that trend; she'd just ignored the signs that told her she felt more.

"Willow's conflicted right now," Tara told her, crossing her arms and looking at Buffy nervously.

"You mean selfish, don't you?" Buffy hated that resentment in her voice and was immediately sorry for letting her cattiness out to play when she witnessed another of Tara's regular flinches. "I'm sorry." She led Tara into the living room, herself just falling into the couch and hoping the cushions caught her. "I can't help feeling a little like Willow feels this is her year for the big attention and she's not handling it well that we aren't all falling at her feet and begging her to make our lives better."

Tara smiled that knowing, crooked half-smile and Buffy released some of her guilt. Tara wasn't blind and she knew better than anyone how manipulative Willow had become. She was tentative in allowing the redhead back into her heart, cautious in stepping back to Willow's side.

"She's struggling. Power is a difficult thing to control when you aren't used to having any, and…when you were gone…I think she had too much of it. Even G-Giles allowed her to organise everything. A-and without a slayer, all we had was the Buffybot and magic."

Buffy looked at her newest best friend and squinted a little, trying to unravel the deeper message in the words. "So in other words, you're saying that while everyone else grieved, Willow took control and now doesn't want to give it back?"

Tara blushed, but she also shook her head and Buffy breathed deeply. She wasn't being fair. She knew that, but the commotion Willow had caused at the Bronze after seeing the Slayer kiss another vampire had gone beyond the realms of acceptable. Buffy needed to act; she just didn't know how.

When the blonde finally pulled herself out of her wallowing, it was to find Tara smiling brightly at her. It gave her some of the confidence back that she'd thought lost for good when Spike had been screamed at and punched by a witch out of control. It had been shocking and frightening and even now Buffy couldn't believe it had really happened. But on the upside, she and Spike were now outed—and in the biggest surprise of all, Xander hadn't said a thing. Her long-time male friend had looked at her nonplussed and then turned back to some internal debate he'd been involved in for the majority of the night.

But now Tara was smiling and Buffy couldn't wipe away the answering grin that came with the relief that the biggest secret she'd ever carried was finally out in the open. And it felt good.

"So, congratulations," Tara giggled, her eyes glittering playfully. "You are happy now, right? You look happy."

"You mean I look less miserable," Buffy teased.

"No," Tara refuted softly. "I mean you look happy."

Finally the tears came and Buffy collapsed into the comforting embrace of the one friend who'd truly known her pain. "I'm so scared, Tara. What if trusting him is the wrong thing to do? What if he really can't stop being evil, even for love? What if I can't ever love _him_?"

Her confidant of the past few months stared at Buffy so hard that the Slayer felt wounds opening up and weep. She knew what the gentle Wiccan was going to say and she knew that she didn't really need the words. The moment had arrived where she was being forced out of her safety fallback position of denial.

"Is that what's really upsetting you, Buffy?"

Being forced to face the real issue that was worrying her dragged up a boatload of pain and it slammed hard into Buffy and she gasped. It was too late to stop herself falling for Spike. Love was already spilling from her heart. But would she have to kill him one day? Dating Riley had been easy, because no matter what went wrong, no matter how much he hurt her with his actions or beliefs, she would never be faced with the necessity of killing him—because he was human. The Slayer didn't kill humans.

Could she kill Spike?

It had seemed impossible: no matter how many chances he gave her before the chip, or how many times he'd pissed her off after it. The number of times he'd been there for her or her family, fighting by her side and taking a beating just for being near her had always been enough, more recently, for her to stay any final, brutal blow that would make him a problem to her psyche no longer.

But if he had to make her choose between him and the world, she had no doubts how it would go down. It was so easy. The balance depended not on love, but on the state of the heart—did it pound with life or was it lying still within the animated corpse that elicited the emotion from her?

Killing Angel had almost broken her, and back then they'd shared a too innocent, not-yet-matured kind of love. What she felt for Spike seemed so much beyond that—it seemed wise and old and powerful in its very existence. It was deeper love—it had had time to grow, learn, and mature, and it had caught her irrevocably and now held her in a place she had no desire to escape from.

A slow, relieved smile teased the corner of her lips and Buffy finally saw how very understanding Tara was. She saw things that could take others years to work out; all Buffy had to do was have faith. And why not, when everyone else had at one point or another? She pouted at that skank-inspired thought that flitted through her brain and then shut the door on that badness hopefully for good.

"You can't predict what will happen in the future, Buffy. Maybe Spike isn't the one that will fall short of your expectations. It's possible you might fail _him _instead." As Buffy raised a dubious eyebrow, "Or, you know, he could go evil again…" she suggested warily, and then rushed on with, "But I really don't think so."

The Slayer nodded her head. She understood the risks and still she believed in Spike. Or as much as she could given the circumstances. She didn't think he would hurt any of them should his chip stop functioning, but that didn't save the rest of the populace. She knew how hard it was to give something up you considered elemental to your existence. Like herself—if she had to give up chocolate for good it would be totally touch and go. Pretty much impossible, in fact.

"You know what?" Buffy waited for that raised brow of amused scepticism and then rushed in with her plan. "I'm not going to worry about it. Right now, I have to give it a chance. I mean, what if Giles and the Council are all wrong with the vampire psychology—or maybe Spike is just the one they could never pigeonhole, no matter how hard they might try? It's not like he's fit into any other mould that I've known of. Spike is Spike and maybe that's enough for me to try." Suddenly she felt terrified, the tears teasing her with their presence once again as she appealed to Tara. "Oh God, what if it's wrong? What if this is all a giant mistake?"

Compelled to her feet, Buffy started pacing, her eyes large and shimmering like diamonds as Tara sat and watched the complexity that Buffy created in which to live her life.

"Buffy, everyone thinks that way when they first start a relationship. No one can know if it will be a mistake, and many women have been murdered by unlikely partners because of that inability to be psychic. Not that I think Spike will murder you. But what I'm saying is, relax. Breathe. Have fun and let Spike love you. And really, really love him. You never know, maybe this is your miracle."

Tara smiled shyly and Buffy realised how undervalued the girl was in her circle of friends. She had so much to offer them than just as the girlfriend of one of the inner circle. On impulse, Buffy launched herself forward and hugged Tara tight. "No matter what happens between you and Willow, you know we'll always be here for you too, right?"

Pulling back, she was reassured to see the grateful smile and the blonde witch's nod. Then, just as quietly, she bid goodnight and left the house, pausing at the stairs for a brief concerned glance up the staircase before heading out into the night.

The silence of the house was welcome and for the first time, Buffy saw it as something other than the opposite of Hell. She'd only been comforted recently by the absence of noise when in contrast to the harsh, sanction obliterating noise that followed just about everyone everywhere.

Willow was disturbingly quiet upstairs and Buffy was hesitant to make her way up to bed. She didn't want to pass her best friend in the hall, or walk into her when she left the bathroom. She wanted to ignore Willow and her irrational over-the-top response to Spike until she'd had some sleep to bolster her spirits.

She'd never expected her revelation to be received with hugs and well wishes, but truthfully, Willow was the last one she'd thought would wig. And to the extent she had? That was a shock that still had Buffy reeling.

That thought started bouncing around in her head again, despite Tara's calm support. Was trying to date and have something deeper with Spike wrong? Was his love as dysfunctional as she'd accused all along? Or was he capable of strong emotion like he'd long pleaded with her to believe? Willow believed those and more, accusing Buffy of losing her mind when they'd resurrected her—of losing her perspective. Of letting evil dwell too keenly between her legs.

Self-respect had Buffy sitting up straighter, and as soon as she allowed it, courage flowed through her and made her strong. She'd made this decision to allow Spike to show her how he could love her, and she'd already lost her heart to him—even if he didn't know it. It didn't matter what Willow thought—or Giles, or Xander, or anyone else who wanted to jump in and give their two cent's worth. Her life, her decision. She really wished they'd get that memo and get on with screwing up their own lives before they did hers any more damage than they had already.

As for Willow, so much for the solidarity they'd shared over Riley's reappearance and exit. Friendship for Willow these days was all about being conditional, and Buffy didn't have the energy for it right now. All of that was reserved for Spike.

As sleep beckoned her, Buffy curled up on her couch and allowed herself to drift back to earlier in the night when she'd been in Spike's arms on the dance floor, feeling the solid support of his embrace as he held her and the magic of that soft kiss.

A smile spread over her lips as Buffy finally figured it out. She wasn't wrong for giving this a chance. For the first time since she was brought back to life, she was doing something right.


End file.
